Hot Like an Oven
by Paceismyhero
Summary: "Even with the horrid posture, she was suddenly unable to remember all the other reasons she'd planned to reprimand him. All she could focus on was him, and how incredible he looked standing in front of one of the clean, new ovens." AU futurefic where a day trip to a hardware store sparks a fantasy Rachel must make happen. M for language and sexual content (nothing explicit, IMO).


**Author's Note:** I've been working on this fic for awhile, going back and forth about getting it right before I finally just threw up my hands and said I'd rather post it than not just because it wasn't perfect. The imperfection (or main one, since I'm sure there are many) is simply that it switches POVs randomly but I didn't care enough to try to make it both Rachel's POV and Puck's POV nor did I want to get rid of the beginning since it helps paint the picture of how everything came to be.

That said, this story is entirely AU and set in the future, though it could be assumed everything (up to and including Finn's death, I suppose) from Glee holds true. However, as mentioned, enough background is given that it doesn't really matter. What DOES matter is that I've ALWAYS wanted to do a pic prompt and could never get the bat off my shoulder. So, this is like a bucket list thing for me. Yay!

The pic that inspired the whole thing can be found here: http(colon) / post/70165188978/marriedwithdesires-men-cooking-is-sexy-men. If the link doesn't work/show up, shoot me a PM (if you care enough) and I can try again!

Last but not least, enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** We're all just having fun here. No intended harm to Glee, owner of aforementioned picture, Lowe's ... etc.

* * *

Puck slammed the cab door shut and shrugged innocently when Rachel glared at him while giving the driver the address to the destination. He still wasn't convinced his presence was needed on this little adventure, and he planned on making that point as best he could whenever the opportunity arose. Although, after nearly a week of doing the same thing, it was safe to assume it was all for naught; Rachel had her mind made up and, in his experience, it was hard to change it afterward. He'd only bore witness to it himself a few times, one of those actually being their entire courtship. She'd never exactly written him off in high school like everyone else had, but neither of them could have predicted a future where they were living together in New York, successful both in love and in each of their competitive careers. Legit, it _still_ threw him for a loop sometimes, and it had been nearly five years.

The Rachel part wasn't even the most surprising. She'd always been his girl, in one way or another, and now that it was official - not just exclusive but to-death-do-us-part official - it was hard to think back to a time when their relationship didn't seem inevitable. The career thing, though … not hers, of course. Anyone who'd thought she wouldn't make it big on Broadway was a fucking idiot, not just because she was crazy talented but also because she wasn't the type of person to give up (again, something he'd witnessed during the beginning of their relationship). He, however, was that kind of person - both the type to give up _and_ be a fucking idiot. He'd spent all of high school practically perfecting each of those skills, and it wasn't until things started up between them in the middle of her college career did he see any reason to stop.

Not to sound too much like a Hoobastank song, but _she_ was the reason. The young girl who'd once annoyed him so much that he'd wanted to light himself on fire had turned into the young woman who had lit a fire under his ass. She'd been home for summer break between her sophomore and junior years, and their paths had kept crossing courtesy of his side business cleaning her fathers' pool, their religion, and their mutually dwindling social circles in Lima. By July she had no reservations about dropping by his mother's house unannounced, and he was almost always there because he was a 20-year-old nobody with nothing to his name. It hadn't even taken a full fifth of JD one night before he was telling her every stupid insecurity he'd ever had, and she hadn't consumed even a sip of it when she'd explained how it was all bullshit. He'd woken up the next morning with the worst hangover in his life, but the best attitude he'd ever had. Less than a month later, he was enrolled at a college in New York to earn an associate's degree in finance and she was in the passenger seat on the way there with him, her hand tucked softly into his.

That was how it went for the next two years, mostly. School was insane, but she was always right there, next to him. She'd remind him that the only thing holding him back was himself, and then she'd push him forward even more. He'd graduated basically at the top of his class, but he'd missed the ceremony because she'd just landed a lead role on Broadway and celebrating that was way more important than shaking some old guy's hand. _She_ was way more important than anything else in his life, which was why he'd proposed to her the night after her first opening just six months later. They'd married the summer after that in The Allen Room in Lincoln Center (jazz music might be the _only_ genre they can agree on) and had gone back every year since - including last month, for the fifth time.

"Noah," Rachel chastised, elbowing him in the ribs after he'd ignored her for too long. "Stop pouting."

"M'not," he argued, smiling a little at the way she'd stuck out her bottom lip just enough to be considered a pout of her own.

"You are."

"Nah." He shook his head, his smile turning more into a smirk as he pointed outside the window toward the unmoving cars. "I'm stoked to spend our one full day together drivin' 30-plus minutes in this bullshit traffic to go to some shitty hardware store in Brooklyn."

He laughed when she huffed in reply, her own eyes drifting out the window. Truth was, he didn't mind the drive. New York traffic was one of most infuriating things in his life, but it reminded him of when he'd wander the streets of Lima aimlessly in his shitty pickup truck; he missed it sometimes. There was something about the freedom of being behind the wheel, the windows down and the music up. Now neither of them even had cars, their loft apartment perfectly located near the same subway line that took each of them to work (in opposite directions). It was yet another adjustment he'd made once moving to New York.

It wasn't like he didn't like the city, though. He did; he loved it. He hadn't thought he would, either, after his experience in LA. Everything there was so fake and crowded and he hadn't liked how detached he felt from everything - his family, his friends, humanity. New York had the potential to be the same thing just in a different time zone, but he'd gone anyway because he'd wanted to explore things with Rachel and he couldn't have done that from Lima. So he'd gone for her, but he'd ended up staying for him because, on top of the love that had been growing for her, he'd instantly fallen in love with the city. It had been like his whole life hadn't started until he was there, parts inside him that he hadn't even known existed awakening with a vengeance. The city was so full of life and different types of people that someone as charismatic and easily bored as he could walk around like a kid in a candy store who'd found a blank check. It was an adventure, and he loved it. Admittedly, he'd also loved sharing it with her, and loved how she was just like the city to him - fast, unpredictable, and familiar in way that was foreign to most.

"We can't live out of takeout containers for the rest of our lives."

He nodded mostly because he didn't agree yet knew better than to get into an argument when he was only messing with her in the first place. They needed a new oven. This was a fact; theirs had broken a couple of weeks ago and they'd both been too busy and/or too distracted to deal with it. However, they lived a stone's throw away from Little Italy (such a selling point when they'd bought the place), not to mention in the restaurant capital of the world. Point was: they weren't going to go hungry. Plus, it was July, so using the oven was basically out of the question unless it was an emergency.

"Just sayin', we coulda picked one out on Amazon or whatever and been done with it."

She huffed again. "You know I don't settle for anything less than the best, and I just read that Lowe's was named the #1 appliance retailer in the country."

The cab driver locked eyes with him through the rear-view mirror, and they shared one of those looks married men snuck when women weren't looking. It's the kind of look that managed to extend sympathy in a we've-all-been-there way, but also held a hint of mockery and an every-man-for-himself vibe, too. Puck reciprocated it with a well-rehearsed shrug, one that most men would assume meant that he was used to it, but actually held a much deeper meaning; there really wasn't a gesture that could fully express how insane his girl was - and there was no use explaining how much she'd actually leveled out over the years - while also making it clear just how much he dug it.

"Just remember, Princess. I'm off the clock."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own. After all, you might be the great Noah Puckerman on Wall Street, but I think we both know who is more persuasive of the two of us."

He chuckled at her insinuation, mostly because it was completely the opposite argument she'd been leading with for the past week. Whenever she'd brought up this pending trip, she'd always claimed he needed to be involved not just because it was for something both of them would use, but because he was the numbers guy. See, math was kind of a Jew thing and talking people into doing stupid shit was most definitely a Puck thing, so he'd made a career out of combining the two and was living the dream life down in the financial district. But that was during the workweek. Rubbing elbows with the salesmen at Lowe's just to get some stupid oven for cost instead of retail wasn't exactly going to give him the same rush he got down at the New York Stock Exchange.

"You're here, are you not?"

He laughed more, thinking maybe she did have a point. He really would have much rathered to spend the day in bed, ideally with her. They lived in a beautiful loft apartment that cost more money than either of them ever thought they'd see in a lifetime - technically they still haven't seen it; it went directly to the bank and probably would for the rest of their lives (or her fathers' lives, but he wouldn't wish them ill just to get out of debt). It was almost dead center between the theater district and the financial district, in either NoHo or SoHo depending on which real estate agent they spoke to. There was a pool and a health center and a crap ton of other amenities, but he mostly just liked that it was theirs.

"Let's just get this over with," he grumbled, leaning to one side so he could remove his wallet. She mistook the shift in position as him seeking a kiss, which meant his focus was moved from the cabbie to her almost instantly. Happily, of course, but he wasn't sure whether he'd handed the driver too many bills or just enough bills and some old receipts. Either way, they exited the cab without incident, her hand pushing into his seconds before she began to pull him toward the entrance. "You're movin' awfully quick for someone who doesn't know where they're goin'."

"This isn't my first trip to a store of this kind, Noah," she pointed out with a lilt of annoyance in her voice. She hated when he called her a spoiled brat, overtly or not, which was basically the only reason he did it; yes, her basement growing up was bigger than his entire house, but he knew she'd worked just as hard in her life as those less fortunate - maybe even more so, because she always had something to prove.

"Besides, everything is clearly marked. Appliances," she pointed up at the sign, then gestured forward, "this way."

"Restrooms," he pointed up, then over, "that way." He dislodged his hand from her hold, rustling her hair before walking backward away from her. "I gotta take a leak. I'll meet ya back there."

"Noah," she called softly but firmly, stomping her foot when he just chuckled and turned around to continue in the opposite direction. She watched him until he disappeared entirely, huffing out an exasperated breath before moving back toward the appliances. Her eyes opened a little in surprise, the shine of stainless steel and even vibrant colors from anything to a dryer to a refrigerator nearly blinding her. Flustered, she saw a display that looked like a kitchen and moved toward it, frowning when she stepped onto the model and only saw one oven. It was stainless steel, too, which didn't match their kitchen's decor.

"Don't even think about it, babe."

"What?" She asked, hoping it came out coy instead of confused.

"We're gettin' an oven. That's it." Noah pointed toward the other side of the model, a line of ovens sitting side by side. "This ain't gonna turn into one of those remodeling shows."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything, knowing he'd likely catch up to the fact that she hadn't been able to find the other models available for them to choose from. Instead, she moved toward the first row of options, reading the display cards and noting that many were available in multiple finishes even if only one was present in store. Inconspicuously, she turned to see if Noah was watching her. He was.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?"

He smirked, moving closer. "I thought you were _perfectly capable_ of doing this on your own."

"I am," she bit back, unwilling to admit that she was suddenly afraid of making the wrong decision. She'd done her research - they needed a standard-size, white, electric oven with a ceramic top - and knew their budget, but she still felt extremely underprepared once she'd glanced at the bulleted features. Did she want more BTUs or less? What was a dual-radiant element? Would one with an alleged large capacity not fit in their apartment?

"But this is a decision that affects the both of us, so you should be equally involved in the decision-making process."

"I'm pretty sure I can make French fries in any of 'em."

"Noah," she bemoaned, glancing down at the line of ovens again before looking back at him and sighing. "Forget it. I'll have someone else assist me."

Rachel brushed by him to head straight for the help desk, honing in on the red-vested gentleman who was currently helping another customer. He seemed overworked and underappreciated, and she felt a little bad that she'd approached him with what was no doubt a look of frustration. She smiled patiently at him in hopes of clearing the air, then turned around so it wouldn't appear as if she would pounce on him the second the older lady stopped asking her inane questions about whether she had enough credit on her store card to purchase whatever item she was interested in. Part of her wanted to point up to the sign that boldly explained where the customer service station was, but instead she kept her opinion to herself and moved her attention back to Noah.

His back was facing her and he was hunched over what she had to assume was his phone, likely scanning emails from work or possibly texting someone about how "bat shit crazy" she was. It was just another reason she could be upset with him, but she was mostly fine with that one only because it usually just made him laugh - or, when it didn't, they'd work it out later, in the bedroom. Regardless, even with the horrid posture, she was suddenly unable to remember all the other reasons she'd planned to reprimand him. All she could focus on was him, and how incredible he looked standing in front of one of the clean, new ovens.

It was preposterous, for so many reasons. The main one, of course, being that they'd been married for five years. They'd been together for seven and she'd known him for _20_; there was absolutely no reason she should still be so transfixed by him, and yet she couldn't possibly think of a good enough reason to turn away. And, again, it was completely stupid because there was nothing really to look _at_. Noah wore a casual outfit of dark-wash, low-hung jeans and a fading old concert T-shirt. It was nothing out of the usual, nothing like how he looked when he was heading for work or for one of their mandatory work parties. It wasn't even particularly flattering given the cut of the materials, but still her mind began to wander. It focused on the part of his body that _was_ on display, the exposed skin of his arms as he leant heavily against the metal appliance.

From far away, the tattoo just looked like a (manly) bracelet. In reality it was a blank music staff that curled around his wrist and trailed off at his forearm. He'd gotten it almost immediately after moving to the city, and she still swore it was mostly in reaction to _finally_ getting rid of that ridiculous haircut. Regardless of the reason, though, she liked it. They both found them oddly sexy, which was why they'd gotten a few together - there really wasn't any better foreplay than sitting in opposing tattoo parlor chairs, staring at one another for a couple of hours with a patch of skin exposed and knowing that not only couldn't you touch _then_, but afterward would require a considerable amount of restraint and/or skill, too. Hers were all modest and well hidden (mostly for professional reasons), and outside of the aforementioned tattoo, so were all of Noah's; their religion frowned upon them (any mutilation of the body, actually) and even she'd been surprised when he'd decided to give up his obsession with pork to balance the scale.

He was full of surprises, though, which was why she was currently two _decades_ into knowing him and unable to stop daydreaming about him. _Fantasizing_ about him. She'd blush if she was of the mind to reprimand herself for having such thoughts in public. Thoughts of her and Noah and that shiny new oven his fingers were curled around. She wanted him to use those fingers on her … _inside_ her. She bit her lip, said blush useless now that she felt the heat spread across her body. She felt hot but managed to shiver, her hand cradling her chin as she leaned against a raised dryer and continued to stare at her husband. She pictured them back in their apartment, finished engaging in strenuous activity and utterly famished. He'd never been shy about his body, and it wasn't hard to imagine him moseying into the kitchen completely naked in search of food. It was less likely, but it was also pretty easy for Rachel to picture naked Noah forgoing his usual urge to order in to instead cook them up something - and for Rachel not to forgo _any_ of her urges regarding complimenting the chef.

"Sorry, ma'am. How may I help you?"

She blinked away the lust-filled fog she felt settling heavily over her eyes and brain, smiling at the salesman for a brief second before pointing over toward the ovens. "I want that one," she announced, knowing full well she was pointing to Noah instead of the appliance he was all but guarding with his frame. "In white, please, and as soon as possible."

Much to the employee's credit, the purchasing process was quite seamless. He'd collected all the pertinent information about the model and checked her out right there in the back of the store to save her the hassle of ringing out up front. She'd demanded next-day delivery, which they offered to everyone but sometimes she liked to think she got her way out of persuasiveness - like she'd explained to Noah on the ride over - less than just by default. Moreover, the urgency was more important to her than it had been before, her fantasy crisp in her mind and likely to stay there as long as it took her to get Noah in front of their new oven, naked.

"What?"

"I said we're all done. Let's go," she repeated, leading the way out of the store with a confused Noah following behind her. He hadn't asked any followup questions, though, likely just assuming she'd gotten fed up with the whole thing because he was genuinely shocked when the delivery people showed up the following afternoon. She could feel his cold gaze the entire time the two burly men worked to switch out their old oven for the new one, which couldn't have been more than 15 minutes. She closed the door behind them as they hauled away the old oven, her gaze almost predatory as she turned back toward the kitchen and honed in on Noah moving closer to the new appliance.

"How much was the installation fee?" He complained, running his hand over the front of the oven as if the movers had left it anything less than pristine. "Ya know I coulda done it."

She didn't want to explain that she'd been in a hurry for basically the last 36 hours, so instead she tried to disarm him (and move forward with her plan) by wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Her hands settled over the hard plane of his stomach and she kissed him softly over the soft cotton of his T-shirt between his shoulder blades. "How about you make me something instead?"

Her arms loosened as he spun in her embrace, her head tilting back and eyes taking in the way one side of his face quirked up from eyebrow to mouth. "Hungry?"

She smiled at the amusement in his tone, and at the way his own eyes darkened. She knew he could tell she cared very little about what he made, that her hunger had absolutely nothing to do with food. For one, if he couldn't, he would have no doubt ruined the whole thing with a sexist joke about how it was a woman's role to be in the kitchen as opposed to a man's. And, honestly, it might not have actually mattered at that point. That was how bad she wanted him, wanted this.

"Starved," she finally answered, letting the hands that were already meandering underneath his shirt grab the hemline and pull up. Her eyes hooded almost instantly, the image of his bare torso in front of their new oven just beckoning her to complete her fantasy.

"Well anything fried is outta the question now."

She laughed at his joke, mostly because she'd already considered the dangers of him being naked while cooking. It hadn't deterred her enough from wanting to fulfill her wanton wishes, though; she'd just decided that he could keep his boxer briefs on. In fact, when he'd left the bed this morning in nothing but them, she'd decided it was an improvement to the original fantasy. Naked was definitely good, but there was something about leaving the underwear on that made it even hotter. Like an obstacle. Plus, the article of clothing itself was pretty sexy, and also managed to somehow exaggerate some of his most exquisite features.

In high school, she'd always commented on how lovely his arms were, but it was hardly fair to try to pinpoint one part of him that was the best when the whole package was worth noting. His face was strong and chiseled, his chest the same on top of being broad. He had abs that models had to work much harder for, as well as more graceful features like his smile and gentle, loving hands. And even though the front was probably the winner just based on the location of his eyes and mouth and … lower selling points … the other side wasn't exactly in a distant second. Like his chest, his back was wide and powerful; she loved the contours that dented his skin, both those that were there all the time and the ones that were created whenever he moved an arm or had to lift something. She liked watching his shoulder blades adjust and flex, his strength evident in almost everything he did.

Then there was the trail of his spine, a perfect indent in the middle of his frame that she often dipped her fingers into during their trysts. It was almost involuntarily, her fingers unable to stop from following the slender path that went from his neck to his lower back. But then she'd reach the divet, the fork at the end of the road; much like the incredible curves that formed in his front, almost as if his muscles were pointing you toward the promise land, there were two dimples on either side of his spine at his lower back leading the way to his perfectly formed rear - she couldn't use the word ass, not to describe something so beautiful that it might as well have been a masterpiece an artist carved out of stone.

It was that thought that'd had her going back and forth all night (she hadn't slept well, wishing Lowe's had a 24-hour delivery service) between whether he should be naked or not. But, ultimately, she'd decided the small piece of fabric wouldn't hinder her fondness for the moment or for him. After all, there was still plenty left to admire, like his shapely legs - strong thighs that she loved settling between, defined calf muscles formed after plenty of runs together. She even enjoyed his bare feet, though it was less because she found them sexy and more because it was the one thing about him she had no trouble labeling as adorable. Even though sometimes the bottoms of his feet were so disgusting from walking around in the apartment all day without shoes, she liked that he (had always) felt comfortable enough to be himself around her. She found his affinity for bare feet to be endearing, though she usually expressed it improperly - there was a running joke that Noah had a bit of Southern in him (the belt buckles, his love for NASCAR, being a closeted country music fan, etc.) and she liked to make fun of him about it anytime he talked about New York like he'd lived there his whole life.

"Keep it simple," she advised. "Fast, easy."

"Are ya still talkin' about cookin' or …" he trailed off, his smirk deepening to the same depth as her desire. She may have seriously underestimated the power of mental foreplay, so much so that she now almost regretted how many times she'd used it against him - like when she'd mention casually before a party that she wasn't wearing underwear just to watch him sweat the entire night before they got back to the loft and he'd rip her clothes off instantly just to see if she'd been telling the truth or not. Who was she kidding? She didn't regret it in the least.

"Either or," she responded dismissively, grinning herself when his amusement finally gave way to the raw emotion she'd seen building in his eyes since she'd first approached him. The smile, however, was ripped from her face a second later, puckering into an argument as he hoisted her up and onto the island counter and then hanging open in shock when, in nearly the same second, he yanked his jeans down and off.

"Toast it is," he mumbled, his mouth attaching to the taut flesh of her neck and immediately working its way across the sensitive skin. Rachel's eyes fluttered closed and she did her best to keep the sigh out of her breath, but couldn't help the stuttered inhale she took after he'd nipped at her pulse point and then soothed the light pain with the width of his tongue. Painstakingly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders - biting back a moan at the feel of his warm, tight muscles against her fingertips - and pushed in an effort to pry him off of her.

"You can't make toast, Noah. You have to use the oven." She exhaled heavily, wishing there was a way she could explain all this to him _while_ kissing. "The stove, specifically."

His face morphed back to its prior amusement, his voice lighter than she would have thought possible given the circumstances. "You're not thinkin' 'bout that Lowe's guy, are you?" He lowered his raised eyebrows, feigning seriousness. "Would this be better if I wore a red vest?"

"No," she answered honestly; she was immune to his mockery at this point. After all, he held all the cards in this game because they both knew she wanted this far too much to back down now - and she couldn't very well do it _without_ him. "Definitely stay in what you have on - less, even."

He smirked at her like he'd won some kind of prize, which maybe he did consider her conceding in any argument (no matter how minor) cause for victory, before reclaiming his position at her neck. He moved quicker this time, though, reaching her mouth only moments later and not really stopping there. She could feel his hands softly run across the denim covering her thighs, his torso leaning further and further into her personal space. It would be so easy to get caught up in the moment, to call an audible (as her father would say) and change the game plan. But Noah was more the sports fan in the relationship, just as he was the one who better handled change and didn't mind going with the flow nearly as much as Rachel did.

So, even though it was more difficult than the last time, she gently pushed him back.

"Jesus _fuck_," he growled, his eyes like a crazed animal's as he turned and scoured the area of their kitchen. He jolted midway through his scan, dislodging from her so quickly that she felt the cool air from the central conditioning unit sweep over her so harshly that she wondered if he'd been blocking one of the vents. Her thoughts, however, were derailed when the loud clang of a pot landing in their kitchen sink echoed in the otherwise quiet space, followed by the rush of water from the faucet. Within a minute, he filled the pot halfway, set it on the largest burner, turned the stove to high and the faucet off, and was back between her legs.

"Noah," she whined, leaning back before he could get any closer. "Quit ruining my fantasy!"

"I'm doing it!" He nearly shouted, shifting sideways and pointing toward the water. "I can't just _make_ the water boil." He settled back in front of her, his frustration less intense but still biting. "S'a new oven, babe. Not a magic one."

She huffed at him but had to relent, if only because she didn't want a minor setback to ruin her entire plan. No, she didn't like change, but she did understand the value of improvising. "I'm sorry, Noah. You're right." She smiled softly, nodding her head. "You're doing great." Her eyes trailed over his frame, appreciating his (non) state of dress. "You _look_ great."

His eyes had returned to their previous lustful hue, his voice matching albeit teasing as he responded, "You look overdressed."

She complied with a giggle, raising her arms above her head and needing to do little else to entice him to complete the task of removing her shirt. He spent even less time gawking at the newly exposed area (fortunately for her he'd never been much of a breast man), though his lips did suction to the tops of the subtle mounds almost instantly. His hands, on the other hand, worked quickly to rid her of her jeans and unabashedly explore, the cold of the countertop clashing with the warmth of his hands causing her to hiss. The sound seemed to trigger his movements to rush, as his pants were off and his heat seared through her core when he pulled her closer in almost the next second.

"Fuck, baby."

She hummed in response, wiggling against him for no other reason than she knew it would drive him crazy. After so long being together, Rachel had not only gotten used to his crass language, but in particular cases, she'd found she quite enjoyed it. There was something powerful about being able to make a man like him react in such a way, not just once but over and over again. Despite his tainted past and what several others liked to assume about the future status of their relationship, she'd never worried about Noah straying from their marriage. He constantly told her just how lucky he felt (not always in such romantic ways, but still) and she made sure to keep reminding him that he wasn't alone in such feelings. Years later, their sex life was still as intense and passionate as it had been at the beginning, and she was absolutely sure that was one thing that wouldn't change.

She gasped lightly when his hands splayed against her back, her eyes fluttering closed when she felt the fabric of her bra loosen and then fall away completely, his mouth shielding her from the cold she may have felt. "I want you so badly, Noah." She tightened her legs' hold around his waist, her hands resting on his forearms and her neck craning back to allow him more room to roam. "Please."

Her desperate mewl was drowned out by the sound of water boiling over the edge of the pot and onto the previously untarnished surface of their new stovetop. They both cursed at the interruption, though Noah was the only one to make a move to do anything about it. Rachel, on the other hand, struggled to open her eyes completely, to clear away the fog that had surrounded her - and always seemed to in his presence. And while she quickly regained her focus, she could do little more than remain in the clouds when her view was almost picturesque to the fantasy she'd conjured up yesterday. At that current moment, Noah was standing in front of their new oven, working to fix the mess and complete the meal he'd started in nothing but his boxer briefs. And that meant there was only one last piece to the puzzle.

She hopped off the counter and toed closer, her lips caressing his back while her hands dipped into his underwear. Immediately, he pushed her backward and forced her hands away, his eyes crazed again.

"Legit, my junk was next to _fire_."

She couldn't help but laugh, her eyes rolling even though her voice remained as lustful as she felt. "Then let's go finish this in the bedroom."

Never a man who had to be told twice in this type of scenario, the burner was turned off and she was pulled away to their bedroom to complete her fantasy. It wasn't until an hour later did either of them even think about the food again, meandering together back to the kitchen and reprising their previous positions - only mostly clothed and definitely satiated now. Turning around and offering her a noodle to test, he accepted her chaste kiss while she chewed and couldn't help but chuckle.

"Remind me not to complain next time ya wanna go to Lowe's."

She wanted to laugh or at least roll her eyes, but instead she beamed and replied, "I told you I was the more persuasive one."


End file.
